


Love Gone Cold

by silversky



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Multi, all signs point to no, can I write a fic without having Keyleth use wild shape?, episode 88 spoilers, ~shakes magic 8 ball~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 16:11:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10166831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversky/pseuds/silversky
Summary: There is an irony in it, that the chosen of the Raven Queen, the one most aware of the true haziness between life and death, should be the first of their party to fail the return crossing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Somebody Else by the 1975, one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite albums, perfect background music for writing something melancholy.

It doesn’t work.

There is an irony in it, that the chosen of the Raven Queen, the one most aware of the true haziness between life and death, should be the first of their party to fail the return crossing. It strikes him, hard and horrible, and the urge to laugh at how _wrong_ the situation is has him bolting from the room before he breaks down completely.

No one follows. Shaun understands why–he is not a sibling like Vex, not a lover like Keyleth, not the one who patched up his wounds or defended him in battle. His loss is little when compared to the pain they must be feeling. But it tears at the ragged hole in his chest nevertheless. They have each other, in their grief. He has no one.

Truthfully, Shaun thinks as he presses his brow against a cold stone wall, it is time to accept he likely was no one as well.

* * *

A bottle of his strongest wine later finds Shaun standing blearily on one of Castle Whitestone’s many balconies. He thinks this is the one he was searching for, but it’s hard to tell through the night and drink. And grief, not that he can forget it. It pulses, oozes, drips through his veins until his limbs are heavy with regret.

This is his fault, his cloudy mind reasons. He should have done more. No, he should have done less. What right did he have to add his voice to those who’d been loved most? His contribution to the resurrection spell was nothing more than choked confessions whispered into an uncaring ear, left to drift forgotten into the ether. It was the weak link, Keyleth and Vex’ahlia’s pleas collapsing without the necessary third support.

He reaches out with trembling fingers, steadying himself with a grip on the weather-worn parapet as he lowers himself to the ground. A cool wind snakes into his hair despite the shelter and Shaun paws distractedly at the tendrils escaping the loose braid he’d put up that morning. It’s a relic of a different time now, a better world. Eyes closed, he pulls it free.

“You fool boy,” he murmurs to himself, aching from the knowledge that the true recipient can no longer hear him.

At least no one will find him here. This spot (if indeed he is in the right place) holds no particular significance to anyone besides himself. Even the one who drove him here would likely not remember, unaware of the needy thrill Shaun felt at being able to help. The joy that ran through him when he brought those beautiful wings into being. Away from sympathizers and the crushing realization that he had failed alike, Shaun can let his pain slip out.

“Foolish,” he repeats. “What drove you to do this? The protection of your family? That is admirable, but who will protect them now? They are alone. You have left them, hurt them more deeply than if one of your daggers had lodged itself into their backs. And I…” Another sob works its way up Shaun’s throat. “My friend, _I am sorry_. I was not enough, I should have known.” Not enough to love. Not enough to stay.

A soft rustle reaches through the broken apology to his ears and he looks up. Pooled tears drop free from the rushed movement, soaking his beard and blurring his eyesight. The looming darkness of the doorway is occupied, but not by anything humanoid. A few blinks brings it into focus–a tiger, white, massive, yet weighed down by an aura of grief all too familiar. Although Shaun has never seen this shape he has heard enough tales (gushing, admiring tales, full of clues that should have warned him of his fate long ago) to recognize the identity beneath the skin.

“My lady Keyleth.” The smile comes automatically, an instinct when in company formed over the years it took him to perfect the image of Glorious Gilmore. And, if truth be told, as a reaction to the girl herself as well. He has always liked Keyleth, even when the demons of jealousy and heartbreak promised satisfaction in resentment. She is too good, too earnest in everything she does not to love. He can understand why he came second.

Keyleth slinks forward, large paws whisper silent against the hard floor. A distant bubble of fear rises in Shaun’s chest, indistinct but for his guilt and the innate menace of the predator before him. He gets as far as shifting his hands to prepare to rise before she is upon him, gleaming yellow eyes inches away from his own. Shaun freezes.

Then they are gone, Keyleth’s head pressed against his chest as the rest of her body collapses to the ground beside him. The warm fur brushes his skin and before Shaun can stop himself he lets his fingers sink into the softness now covering his lap. Pressed against her body he can feel his shaking echoed by her own. His heart, already so close to breaking, feels heavier than ever.

“I’m so sorry,” he sighs, resting his cheek on the top of her head. Keyleth shifts so that one of her paws crosses his legs, draping as much of herself over him as she can get without crushing him with her form’s mass. In turn Shaun gets comfortable, wrapping his arms around her hefty neck and letting the wall behind him take his weight.

The tiger’s deep breaths steady him as he matches her rhythm, the two slipping into sync as the minutes pass. Slowly, his tears dry. His eyes drift shut. A few hours before dawn his gentle strokes finally stop, hands remaining buried deep in fur. Not soon after Keyleth’s form shimmers, returning to that of a heartbroken woman. Her face is buried in her companion’s neck, arms pressed against his chest as his own cradle her back. No longer alone, they sleep more peacefully than they’d have dared hope when their vigils began. The night is still.

Above them a single black feather floats down on a breeze, and vanishes.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be part of a greater fic where Keyleth and Gilmore get together after Vax dies and I cry every night about Vaxlethmore, but it seemed right to end it there? Let me know if you want more of that though, I might be able to bully my muse into giving more material for this fabulous AU that will never happen ahahaha *prays to the Raven Queen to be merciful on Thursday*.


End file.
